


Tidal wave

by smalliemushroom



Series: L'Éternité est à nous [3]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arguing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Underage Drinking, i don't wanna spoil so i'll stop there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 02:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalliemushroom/pseuds/smalliemushroom
Summary: Jackson and Jinyoung meet when they are teenagers on a cruise. Will their relationship only remain a holiday idyll?





	1. PART I : "We aren't serious, when we're seventeen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part's name is a verse taken from the poem "Roman" by Arthur Rimbaud.

**Novel**

I

We aren't serious when we're seventeen.  
—One fine evening, to hell with beer and lemonade,  
Noisy cafés with their shining lamps!  
We walk under the green linden trees of the park

The lindens smell good in the good June evenings!  
At times the air is so scented that we close our eyes.  
The wind laden with sounds—the town isn't far—  
Has the smell of grapevines and beer . . .

II

—There you can see a very small patch  
Of dark blue, framed by a little branch,  
Pinned up by a naughty star, that melts  
In gentle quivers, small and very white . . .

Night in June! Seventeen years old! —We are overcome by it all  
The sap is champagne and goes to our head . . .  
We talked a lot and feel a kiss on our lips  
Trembling there like a small insect . . .

III

Our wild heart moves through novels like Robinson Crusoe,  
—When, in the light of a pale street lamp,  
A girl goes by attractive and charming  
Under the shadow of her father's terrible collar . . .

And as she finds you incredibly naïve,  
While clicking her little boots,  
She turns abruptly and in a lively way . . .  
—Then cavatinas die on your lips . . .

IV

You are in love. Occupied until the month of August.  
You are in love. —Your sonnets make Her laugh.  
All your friends go off, you are ridiculous.  
—Then one evening the girl you worship deigned to write to you . . . !

—That evening, . . . —you return to the bright cafés,  
You ask for beer or lemonade . . .  
—We're not serious when we are seventeen  
And when we have green linden trees in the park.

 

Arthur Rimbaud (translated by Wallace Fowlie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the poem is 100 times better in french, but oh, well)


	2. "Ruddy ghosts"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is fictional story. Jackson and Jinyoung aren't actually dating.
> 
> Hi! 
> 
> As I said in the French version of this story, I don't know what I'm committing myself to. I haven't even finished writing the chapters, and you must NEVER trust me with writing. I will probably take forever to update... However, I do know everything that's going to happen (phew). I just have to find the motivation to write all that! I'm super excited about that story, by the way! (and I hope you will be too?)
> 
> This story will be divided in two parts. The first part will contain seven chapters (I think). At first, I wanted to write two big chapters that would correspond to the two major parts (a big block rather than several small chapters). But I changed my mind, because if I write short chapters, I spend less time on correcting and I can translate the chapters more quickly. It's less tiring for me (yes, it's for entirely selfish reasons, I admit it, haha). 
> 
> English isn't my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy!! <3
> 
> smalliemushroom

"She is a mortal danger to all men. She is beautiful without knowing it, and possesses charms that she's not even aware of. She is like a trap set by nature--a sweet perfumed rose in whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush!”

 

* * *

 

 Brouhaha, refreshing heat, gentle sea air… The holidays were in full swing on the cruise ship Jackson and his family had decided to spend the next ten days.

The party-goers danced, totally inflamed, on the rhythm of the music. The zephyr from time to time came to relieve them, touching their skin like a delicious caress. But Jackson, contrary to his habit, was far from performing on the dance floor that night. Alone in an empty corner, he was leaning on the edge of the boat and was watching the night spread in front of him. The cries of the vacationers, the wild music and the dives in the pool seemed far away. He only heard the waves. He only saw the blue sky decorated with stars, only saw the moon adorned with its white veil. He felt so weary! If the heavenly scenery soothed him, it had also taken his usual ardor away.

A weight suddenly made his shoulder heavy.

“Jackson, are you okay?”

He recognized the voice and hastened to answer with a big smile. “Yes! I am. I’m doing fine!”

The answer did not come right away. He swallowed and his smile widened again—so much that his cheeks ached.

“Are you sure?”

“A two hundred percent sure. On a scale from one to ten, my current mood would be—”

“Two?”

“No, Minho!” Jackson said before giving himself a slap on the forehead. He cleared his throat, put his hands on his hips, and made a smile he wanted cheerful. “Twelve, that goes without saying. A big fat twelve, even.”

“So what are you doing here, all alone, instead of having fun on the dance floor like you’re used to? Has our trip to Kagoshima exhausted you that much?”

“No, it hasn't, not at all, I just—”

The seriousness of his interlocutor’s look disconcerted him. He sighed. His guardian knew him too well and couldn’t be fooled. To avoid any conversation, Jackson began to contemplate the horizon. Minho approached and imitated him. “Would you have preferred to stay in Seoul?”

“No! No, I wouldn’t, really, everything’s perfect, I just feel like—”

He swallowed. And sighed. _Shit, since when had talking become such a torture?_ “You know,” he tried, “this cruise thing and all that… It's a constant reminder of my fear of the ocean. And above all, it reminds me of—”

Minho seemed to understand. He smiled, looked at Jackson with an affectionate gaze and put a hand on his shoulder. “I understand. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to Seoul, though? There may be a way to—“

“Yeah, I assure you, I am. Thank you for worrying about me like that.” He had a sincere smile. His guardian gave it back to him.

Mr. Kim Minho was a great man. He and Jackson had a rather special relationship. They loved bickering as if they had been kids: they spent their time arguing over what movie to watch, fought to know who would eat the last piece of chocolate cake left in the fridge, passed the household tasks back and forth because nobody wanted to do them.

Mr. Kim Minho was also a very old man—though not so much, actually, but Jackson liked to comment on how little hair he had left; he liked to exaggerate the dread he felt when he saw him without his dentures; made remarks on his failing memory and on his shortness. But just as much, he was careful to buy the gel that his guardian loved so much and sometimes even did his hair; he cleaned his dentures and never failed to remind him of their location when he forgot, because he knew that his guardian was losing his marbles; he always bought him shoes with heels to help him with his complex. Jackson had been living with him for as long as he could remember.

“Did they really meet on a boat?” Jackson asked, breaking the silence.

“Indeed. Your mother always said that your father was super annoying that night, with his pick-up lines. Although I am sure, deep down, that it’s for these exact same pick-up lines that she fell for him.”

Jackson giggled. Minho paused and stared at him. A smile bloomed on his lips. “I think you’re a lot like him. Your father, I mean.”

Jackson did not react right away. His eyes became glassy, his features froze for a moment, until a big smile appeared on his face. He took a supposed nonchalant attitude: “Ah, in an unsubtle and unable to approach people kinda way? Yeah, that’s me. Totally me.”

Minho rolled his eyes. "No, Jackson, in a smooth-talker, charming, who has a way with women kinda way, as you say.

"And men," he added, suddenly not ironic at all.

"And men," Minho repeated with a smile.

Jackson smiled back. There, beside each other, with their lips stretched to the ears and their white teeth all revealed, they had a smile so similar that they looked like a father and his son.

“Dad!”

The two of them turned around and saw a tall young man, far too tall for the age of fourteen anyway, as Jackson thought, approach.

“What is it, Yugyeom?”

“The internet connection sucks in my room, could you do something?”

Minho was about to answer when Jackson got ahead of him: “Hey, Yug', what the hell are you doing in your room playing games on your phone when we’re on holiday?”

“What are _you_ doing in this corner of the boat, so far from the dance floor, mister I am the best dancer you’ve ever seen?”

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re confusing with yourself.”

Yugyeom wanted to answer but could only articulate a stammer. His cheeks turned red. Jackson laughed—and Minho followed him. “Come on, Yugyeom, go to the dance-floor and show them what you're capable of,” he said.

The youngest lowered his head and began to play with the hem of his t-shirt. “I don’t know if I'll be able to—”

“How about we have a challenge?”

The question must have aroused Yugyeom’s curiosity because he looked up to Jackson with a bright look of excitement. _Such a child_ , Jackson thought—when he was only three years older than him. “If you agree to dance, I commit to—”

“To finding a partner!” His younger brother interrupted. “And before the end of the holidays!”

Jackson opened his mouth wide. “What?”

“Very good idea, son,” Minho exclaimed, ruffling Yugyeom's hair, who smiled under the gesture.

“But Minho, I'll never be able to—”

“No buts! You should’ve thought carefully before suggesting a challenge to your brother.”

Jackson sighed and made a remark about his younger brother's ease of getting out of any situation, to which Minho answered with an evasive gesture of the hand before leaving to go get a piña colada at the bar.

“So, ready?” Yugyeom asked, his eyes shining with mischief, holding out his hand. Jackson squeezed it with a reluctance barely hidden and said between his teeth that he would make him pay for this affront. “Before the end of the holidays, don’t you forget!” Yugyeom reminded, not a little frightened by the threat.

He was about to leave when Jackson grabbed his wrist. “For cutting me off and imposing me a challenge, I also add a condition: you must participate in the duet dance competition and win.” His younger brother’s frantic look at that moment should not satisfy him so much, _it really shouldn’t._ But, after all, it was his duty as a big brother to laugh at his misfortune, so when he saw his disappointed face, he had no qualms about laughing.

“What?” Yugyeom objected. “You're being too hard on me!”

“And? Have you thought of me? Finding someone by the end of the holidays? _Really?”_

Yugyeom sighed. “Okay, fair enough.” There was a flash in his eyes. “But still, you gotta admit it was a good idea and—”

“Go, get out of my sight!”

The youngest stared at him before pulling out his tongue and walking towards the dance floor.

Jackson sighed. Maybe Yugyeom was right. Maybe this idea was not so bad after all. It encouraged him to talk to people. It encouraged him to get rid of this melancholy that had been stuck to his skin since the beginning of the holidays.

 

* * *

 

This idea was not so bad. No, it was absolutely terrible.

It was official: Jackson would make Yugyeom pay. No matter how. He already had some ideas in mind. Maybe he would wake him up by pouring a bucket of cold water on him every day. Or perhaps, he would eat the food that Yugyeom always took a ridiculous amount of time to hide behind the yogurt pots in the fridge. Or he would reveal to Park Haneul that his little brother had a crush on her. No, that would be even funnier if Yugyeom did it himself. Jackson couldn’t wait to accidentally throw him into her arms the next time he would accompany him to school. Then, he would see what it was like to have to seduce someone. Because it was really, really not easy.

Jackson sighed at the memory. Finding someone before the end of the holidays seemed impossible. He didn’t even know how to do it! He had never dated, although some people had declared their love to him when he was younger. And he had never fallen in love. He did not have time for love anyway: he couldn’t stop playing video games with Mark in his free time; and the other half of the time, he helped Minho with the shopping, the cleaning—sometimes—or even with money. Since he was sixteen, he had been babysitting every night after class to help his guardian who was single and had to raise two minors.

In a moment of despair, he succumbed to temptation and ordered something at the bar. He took a non-alcoholic drink—not that he feared the effects alcohol could have on him, far from it, but since he was still a minor, of course. Then he scanned his surroundings and identified Yugyeom in the distance, scratching his neck and hesitating to go to the dance-floor. He jeered. Perhaps he would not lose this challenge, after all.

“A glass of vodka, please.”

Jackson turned his head and saw a guy who must have been his age sit by his side. His hair was cut short and he was barely shorter than him. He brought a smell of cherry perfume with him—his shampoo, probably. A gold chain adorned his neck. Jackson heard him whisper something to the bartender, and, despite his youth, received a glass of alcohol, which he seized. They were long, his fingers, and thin, and pale, Jackson remarked.

"You're not old enough to drink," he suddenly said.

The stranger turned to him, put down his glass, which he couldn’t drink, stopped in his tracks, and stared at him. “How’s that any of your concern?”

Jackson's eyes widened, surprised by his abrupt tone and his voice that seemed to have not quite broken. “Wow, sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t in the mood…”

He noticed that his vis-à-vis, whose jet-black strands obstructed his forehead, had a hazy look. As if he had already drunk before coming to the counter to drink even more.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, and—wait, what?” He exclaimed suddenly, his eyes wide. “Who are you?”

Jackson saw behind his certain intoxication a deep sincerity in his eyes. He wanted to be ironic, but before that look, felt completely helpless, and, bewitched, could only say the truth: “Jackson. My name is Jackson.”

“Jackson…?”

He hesitated. Was he a Wang? Or a Kim?

“I understand, you don’t wanna tell me," the other finally said. “You don’t have to. I’m Park Jinyoung, by the way.” He held out his hand to him—and Jackson noticed to the little grimace he had on his face that it was not everyday that he made the first move.

“Nice to meet you,” Jackson said, shaking his hand. “I think?”

Jinyoung gasped. “What do you mean, you think? Everyone is delighted to meet me. I am Park Jinyoung, after all.”

Jackson, being too charmed by this seemingly unreal being, lit up by neon lights of all colors, did not guess what was behind those words—Jinyoung was the son of a woman who was once a famous Korean singer. We could not really blame him anyway, because Park was a pretty common name.

Jackson began to watch him drink, began to look at his pink and wet lips, which opened slightly to let the liquor pass, which itself went down his throat and moved his Adam's apple with each swallowing.

Jinyoung put down his glass, grimaced, asked for an other one, then looked up at him questioningly. “What's the matter? Do you want to drink too?”

“No! No, I don’t, I—”

Jinyoung's brow furrowed. Jackson swallowed. Then let go: “I have never drunk alcohol before.”

Jinyoung opened his eyes wide. “Never, you mean, never, never? Not even to annoy your step-mother by throwing up on the ass-haired carpet she just bought to impress her family coming from the depths of the countryside?”

Jackson smiled. “No, not even that. But sounds like there’s a story.” He saw Jinyoung's expression shut in and guessed he had touched a sore spot. Therefore, he tried to get on a less slippery slope: “I was just thinking that maybe, if I drank alcohol, it could give me the courage to do something.”

“Something? Like, run away, get lost in the streets of the city and blame it on the alcohol? Because if so, I can give you a couple tricks.” He paused, turned his head to the left, then to the right, like a bird on the watch, before whispering: “I’ve got experience.” He froze, as if he had just realized what he had said, as if it had been an unspeakable secret—but it was too late, the bomb had been dropped.

Jackson did not seem to react. On the contrary, his eyes seemed soft, and he was looking towards the sky. “Ah, sorry, but I wouldn’t dare scare my guardian like that.”

Jinyoung showed a sudden interest in his words.

“Haha, no,” he went on, “poor man, he would be too scared, and would force Yugyeom to walk all around Seoul to find me.”

Jinyoung was looking at him with a look so inquisitive that Jackson felt uncomfortable.

“How about you?” He said after clearing his throat. “Why are you drinking tonight?”

“Who is Yugyeom?”

Jackson did not want to reveal his whole life to a stranger who was already half drunk, he really didn’t. But he was so handsome, his hair was so black, his eyebrows so thick, his lips so pink… His skin was so pale, so perfect and so immaculate, like a doll of wax’s. He had a small T-shaped scar on his forehead, though, as if he had been cracked. He seemed like a mirage, a pipe dream, a pipe dream that Jackson could reach, tonight, a pipe dream that yet he managed to interest, tonight, so he thought that maybe, he had charm, too; so he wanted to use it a little more, just a little more, for one night, to weave a link with this entity, who, between reality and dream, seemed so close yet so far at the same time.

“My little brother.” Well, fuck it. He had never been good at hiding secrets, anyway. “It's him, there,” he said. He turned around and pointed his finger at Yugyeom, in the distance, haggard, standing between two masses of dancers.

“Wow. Little brother, huh?” Jinyoung exclaimed.

“Hey, hands off,” Jackson retorted, suddenly on the defensive.

Jinyoung scrutinized him, curious, then sneered. “Relax, I'm not trying to flirt with him. He’s not my type, anyway.”

“Oh, my bad," Jackson said, scratching his neck before giving him an embarrassed smile. “What did you mean, then?”

“I was just thinking that he’s very tall to be your a little brother.”

"Don’t remind me," he answered, sighing. “He’s only fourteen! He’s fourteen and he has the audacity to challenge his eldest to some bullshit that’s none of his business.”

Jinyoung's eyes lit up and he put his glass on the side before asking if it was the thing he was talking about earlier. Jackson nodded. “I told him he had to make a friend and win the dance competition to win the challenge.”

“And does he like to dance, at least?”

“Yeah, he does, and not a little. He really has talent, someone just had to push him a little.”

Jinyoung gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder while smiling. “How cute!”

“Me, cute?” Jackson answered, eyes wide. “Nah, really not.” His cheeks were red and he felt like his hands were moist. A silly smile cracked his face. Jinyoung looked at him with mischievous eyes. “Okay, a little,” he agreed after clearing his throat. “A little. I think it's my new blonde dye that gives me that charm.”

He managed to make Jinyoung laugh sincerely for the first time, and he was very surprised. The brunet had a sonorous laugh, almost a little ridiculous, and, on top of that, he hid it behind his hand like a child. Jackson enjoyed admiring his ears that stuck out and the few wrinkles he had in the corner of his eyes. He had always been told he was funny, and people often laughed at his jokes—especially his friend Mark. But hearing Jinyoung laugh right in front of him made him feel special. He was suddenly very proud of his humor—although it left something to be desired. Maybe Jinyoung laughed more easily because of the liters of alcohol he must have drunk, but Jackson did not care. Seeing him laugh in itself was enough. And, inexplicably, he laughed, too.

“And you, then, what do you have to do?” Jinyoung said, trying to regain his composure.

“I have to—ah, shit, it's really stupid, I don’t want you to—”

Jinyoung put his hand on Jackson’s. “Tell me.”

His look was so sweet and his smile so sincere that Jackson couldn’t help but follow his orders. “I have to find someone before the end of the holidays,” he said in a fraction of seconds.

Jinyoung gave him a questioning look, a sign that showed him he didn’t understand and wanted him to repeat. Jackson made himself docile and repeated, more slowly this time. “But I’ve never dated before!” he finished. “And I’ve never fallen in love, either…”

Jinyoung hung on Jackson’s every words. He seemed a little too interested. But he kept his cards close to his chest, and only a strange gravity could be distinguished from his pupils. “He didn’t ask you to be in love, but to find a partner.”

Jackson frowned. “And they’re supposed to be two different things?”

Jinyoung swirled the drink in his glass and drank it all in one gulp before saying, as if it were obvious, that indeed, they were two separate things.

Jackson sighed. “It doesn’t matter if they are, anyway. I know I'll never make it.”

“What if I helped you?”

Jinyoung suddenly seemed far too close to him.

“I don’t think that—”

His gaze misted by the alcohol settled on him, even seemed to devour him, and Jackson felt a shiver run through his entire back. “Really,” Jinyoung insisted, “it doesn’t bother me, y’know. And you’re actually kinda cute.”

Jackson felt Jinyoung’s breath flow gently over the tip of his lips. It reeked of alcohol. His hand on him made his heart beat so hard that he felt destabilized, as if Jinyoung had cast a spell on him. He could not, _he could not_ , even if the touch was intoxicating, even if that look made his heart palpitate and that voice made him want to abandon himself to unmentionable night dreams. “You're drunk, Jinyoung—if that's really your name... I can’t accept that when you're half-unconscious.”

Jinyoung did not seem to understand and came closer to him. “I am fully aware of what I’m doing. Look, when I do that…” He followed Jackson’s jaw line with his forefinger, watching for the least of his reactions with _that look_ , that look that was far too dark, far too carnal, that look that called for something far too fascinating and unimaginable; Jinyoung then put a hand on his knee, went up his thigh before finishing his race next to his crotch. His breath tickled his ear. “Come on, Jackson… To win against your little brother. For your honor, please…”

Jackson suddenly recoiled. Jinyoung pulled back, just as surprised, and questioned him with his eyes. His voice was a whisper: “What's the matter?”

Jinyoung seemed far away, almost as white as the moon was. He seemed lonely, just like her, and out of Jackson’s reach. The latter cleared his throat and clenched his fists. “I feel like it's more for _your_ honor that you wanna help me,” he said, mimicking quotation marks for the last word.

“What do you mean?”

Jackson stared at him. “I refuse to be one of your pawns. You wanna make someone jealous, don’t you?”

Jinyoung did not seem surprised that he was accused in this way—on the contrary. “Ah, we’re getting suspicious, here, aren’t we?” He had moved away from him and looked at him scornfully. A crooked smile twisted his lips. He took a menacing tone: “Well, you should.”

Jackson frowned. Jinyoung crossed his legs before looking vaguely at the vodka he was swirling in his cup. "Let's use each other," he said suddenly, his eyes full of seriousness in Jackson’s. “You win your challenge and I… Well, I win what I have to win.”

He had lost all the innocent beauty that Jackson had found so touching about him earlier. His eyes were dark, almost haughty, not to say contemptuous; the slightest of his gestures was calculated, even swirling this stupid drink in his glass, surely to give himself the countenance he didn’t have. He was only a nightmare hidden under an angel's cloak.

“And what do you have to win, exactly?” Jackson retorted. “Because I told you a lot about me, but I don’t know anything about you, now that I think about it.”

“And I want it to stay that way.” Jinyoung put his glass on the table and looked into his eyes—Jackson was frightened by the seriousness he perceived in them. The music seemed much less strong. He could barely make out the screams and screeches on the dance-floor. He didn’t even hear the waves anymore. There were only Jinyoung and him, far from reality.

“So? Are you taking the plunge?”

They looked at each other for a long time, looking for a hint that would show that the other had given in. Jinyoung's skin seemed diaphanous, like a ghost’s. A ghost dressed in red, because that was what Jinyoung inspired him of: the red color, with all its connotations. Passion, danger. He was a poppy, a burning fire; he was the leaves of a maple tree in autumn and bloodshot eyes. He had the acidity of a red fruit syrup, the smell of a pepper.

He was a rose.

_Jackson had never feared thorns._

He stood up.

“Sorry, but I’ve always been afraid of water.”

And left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's name is a verse taken from the poem "Soleils couchants" by Paul Verlaine. The quote at the beginning of the chapter is from Cyrano de Bergerac, a theater play written by Edmond Rostand.
> 
> Have you listened to "Dawn of us" yet? kdskjdsj the legend jumped out!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment!
> 
> smalliemushroom


End file.
